Baker Street as you don't know it
by high funcioning fangirl
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield, former army doctor, once said to his therapist that nothing ever happens to him. But that was before he met mysterious consulting detective Thranduil Oropherion. After that Thorin's life rapidly changes. What is it that makes sociopathic Thranduil with no family so interesting? And who the hell is Legolas? Rated M for possible whatever


**221B BAKER STREET AS YOU DON'T KNOW IT**

**CHAPTER 1 - THRANDUIL OROPHERION, THE IMPOSSIBLE FLATMATE**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Mayor characters belong to Tolkien and the rest belongs either to BBC or sir A.C. Doyle.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This came to my mind while watching Sherlock so I admit that parts of 1st and 2nd chapter are quoted. It will get better, I swear. Also I beg your pardon for possible grammatical issues. English is not my mother tongue. Please, read and let me know what you think.**

"NO!" with a loud scream Thorin Oakenshield woke up from the nightmare. It took several minutes to him until he realised that he is not fighting in Iraq. Not anymore. His injury several months ago was enough for doctors to send him back home. And there he was. Small room with sparse furniture near centre of London.

He ran his hand through his hair, still trembling. Nightmare has been as awful as usual. Mission in Iraq had been hell on Earth and Thorin had lost lots of his friends and, more importantly, his two nephews in there. He thought that he could move on with his life, as he returns but no. Nightmares continued and soon after he had returned, he realized that nothing will ever be the same.

He looked around the room. It was really small, but it was all he could afford this close to the centre. Shelves were yet empty because he didn't bother to put things in there. On the contrary, wardrobe was overflowing with clothes and boxes.

Thorin sat on the bed for good long while. In some point of sitting and self-pity he decided that it will do better if he just gets up. So he got up and walked to the desk. He knelt down on the floor. There was this secret box under the desk on the left. Thorin opened it. His gun was still there, loaded and expecting. This gave him feeling of relief. He dressed and quickly left the room with his fellow staff. He decided to walk to nearest coffee shop and so he did. After ten minutes of limping through the park he arrived there, ordered take-away american coffee and left. He wanted to drink it somewhere in the park so he elegantly limped across it, looking for some bench to sit on when suddenly...  
"Thorin? Thorin Oakenshield?!" Thorin turned around and found white haired man. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember who it was. And then it clicked. "Balin?  
Balin shook his hand. "Glad you remember. I heard you were injured somewhere in Iraq. What happened?"  
"I was injured," was the reply. They stood in awkward silence for a while.  
" Join me, let me grab you a lunch," Balin suggested. And so Thorin joined him and couple minutes later they were sitting in the very same park eating sandwiches.  
"How long are you staying in London?"Balin asked.  
"Not very long, I suppose. Flats are expensive here."  
"Wouldn't Dís help?" Thorin shot him a glare. Of all the things that got worse, Dís was definitely the worst. She started drinking when she was told that boys died and now she was on the rehab. Or out of rehab, it changed nothing really. You know, what people say. When you want, there is always a way. And so it was with Dís and alcohol.  
"Then get a flatshare or something. I assure you that houses in country aren't much better."  
Thorin shot him another glare. "Who would want me for a flatmate?"  
Balin just smiled at him. "You are the second person who told me this today, you know."  
Thorin got interested. "You don't say? Who was the first?"  
Balin stood up, with that smile on his face. "Come along, I'll introduce you. He will be in St. Barts by now."

And so it happened that Thorin found himself in St. Barts, somewhere between morgue and labs. Balin opened the door of the lab for him and Thorin entered. And there, with the microscope sat young man (at least Balin referred him as a man, but it was hard to guess from what Thorin saw) with long golden hair and pleasantly gentle features.

"Hello, Balin," stranger greeted without looking at them.  
"Hi, Thranduil. Still working?"  
" Obviously. What is it this time?" man referred as Thranduil raised his eyes from microscope to look at Balin. Thorin couldn't but notice how green are his eyes. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him.  
"Can I use your phone? Mine is off," Thranduil asked. Thorin stood a bit awkwardly next to Balin.  
"Sorry, I left it in my coat," Balin replied.  
"Here, you can use mine," offered Thorin.  
Thranduil-guy stood up and walked to him. Or more like danced towards him. Thorin handed him the phone.  
"Thank you."  
"Thranduil this is my classmate and colleague, Thorin Oakenshield." Thranduil hummed something for answer, paying attention to the phone.  
"Now, now, where was I? Ah-hah," Thranduil turned his attention to Thorin, "Afganistan or Iraq?"  
Thorin looked at Balin, who was still smiling. Then he looked back at Thranduil just to find out that the other man is scanning him with his eyes.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Where were you? Afganistan or Iraq?"  
"Iraq. How do you..." But Thranduil was already playing with microscope. Thorin watched him for a while. He didn't know what to think of this stranger. Later on, when Thorin was thinking of their first meeting, just one word popped up in his mind to describe Thranduil. Mysterious.

"Do you mind harp?" Thranduil asked him out of blue.  
"Pardon?"  
"I play harp when I am thinking and that means that I play a lot. Sometimes I don't talk for days and I stay up a lot. I think that flatmates should know the worst about each other."  
"Wait... What...? Who said anything about flatmates?"  
Thranduil grabbed his coat and put it on to leave.  
"I did. I told Balin that I must be difficult to share a flat with and there he is, right after lunch with friend who had recently come back from Iraq." Thranduil said.  
"So we know each other like what, two minutes and we are going to look for a flat together?"  
Thranduil was already heading towards exit. "Is that a problem?"  
"I don't even know your name or the address."  
Thranduil turned around to face Thorin. "I know you are army doctor, who recently came back from Iraq, you are single, right handed and your therapist says that your limp is psychosomatic, and I am afraid that she is at least partially right."  
Thorin stood there, completely stunned while Thranduil walked towards the door. He turned back just once again. "Name is Thranduil Oropherion and address is 221B Baker Street. Tommorow at 6 P.M." And he was gone. Thorin pinched himself, curious whether he is dreaming or this really happened. Then he and Balin left, Balin for work and Thorin for home.

As soon as he reached his room, he swithched on the computer and put name "Thranduil Oropherion" into were hundreds of results. Now that's getting interesting.

Next day Thorin walked his way to Baker Street, unsure whether Thranduil will be there. And as soon as he reached number 221 and was about to knock, familiar voice greeted him.  
"Doctor Oakenshield, good afternoon." He turned around and saw Thranduil walking towards him.  
"Mr Oropherion." Thorin shook his hand in glove. "Please, Thranduil will suffice." Younger man was dressed in tight jeans, shirt and the coat. Thorin wondered who was this man.  
"I know landlady, Mrs Hudson, she owes me a favour so she gave me a special offer," said Thranduil and smiled at him.  
"A favour?" Thranduil knocked on the door.  
"Yes, a couple years ago her husband got himself into some trouble in Florida and was to be executed."  
"So you stopped the execution?"  
Thranduil's smile widened and Thorin noticed two things. First, Thranduil had that kind of smile for which you would do anything in the world and second, he wasn't smiling with his eyes. Thorin had seen this kind of smile before. Mostly with former soldiers.

Mrs Hudson, the landlady, opened the door and also smiled fondly. "Thranduil, I haven't heard from you for months, come on in," she greeted and hugged him. He hugged back. Thorin felt odd.  
"Mrs Hudson, glad to see you. This is my friend, Thorin Oakenhield." After greeting both of them, Mrs Hudson shoved them in.

There was terrible mess in the flat B. There were books and boxes of things everywhere and skull on mantelpiece.

"This looks nice," said Thorin and sat down into the armchair.  
"I hoped that you'll like this, so I already moved in. Obviously, I can straighten things up a bit." Thorin just stared. Not only at Thranduil, but on the furniture as well. Everything looked new and expensive. Thorin couldn't help himself but wonder that if Thranduil can afford furniture like this, why does he need a flatshare?  
" Oh, Thranduil, the mess you made!" yelled Mrs Hudson from the kitchen. Thranduil was staring blankly out of window and if he had heard Mrs Hudson, he showed no sign of it. Mrs Hudson was moving in the kitchen behind Thorin's back and Thorin watched Thranduil. Or rather watched golden curtain of Thranduil's hair. Thranduil had long hair, even too long for woman, but it strangely suited him.  
" Any case of interest? What about these three suicides, Thranduil? Looks like something for you," said Mrs Hudson holding newspaper. Thorin shot her questioning look. Case? Suicides? What did you say, you were doing for living?  
"Four," Thranduil replied matter of factly, "This one seems to be different." Thranduil barely finished and some man rushed upstairs, yelling Thranduil's name. Thranduil gracefully turned towards the door.  
" Where?" he asked.  
" Brixton," other man replied, gasping for breath.  
" You wouldn't come for me if there wasn't something different."  
"Remember that they never leave notes? This one did. Will you come?" other man, police inspector as Thorin figured out, sounded desperate. Thorin looked at Thranduil. He was pouting, obviously thinking of something.  
"Who's on forensic?" he asked.  
"Anderson," was the reply.  
"Ah, we don't get on well," Thranduil looked like he was about to refuse.  
"He won't be your assistant."  
"But I NEED an assistant!"  
"Will you come?"  
"Not in the police car, I'll take my own. Be right behind you."  
"Yesss! Thank you very much!" and police inspector actually bowed towards Thorin and Mrs Hudson.

As soon as door slammed behind the inspector, Thranduil basically danced around out of joy.  
"Yes! Brilliant! Ah, four serial suicides and now they have a note! Oh, this is Christmas. Mrs Hudson, I'll be late, might need some food." And he grabbed his coat and was on his way.  
" I am not your housekeeper!" Mrs Hudson yelled at his back.  
Thorin didn't know, what to do. Mrs Hudson left, muttering something like "not decent" and "not your housekeeper". Thorin sat there and looked around. He wouldn't be able to move in until Thranduil won't tidy his stuff. He looked at the door and almost got a heart attack. Thranduil was standing there and scanning him again.  
"You were an army doctor?" this one sounded like a question.  
"Yes, what of it?" replied Thorin.  
"Any good?"  
"One of the best."  
" So you have seen enough blood, violent deaths..."  
"Yes, enough for a lifetime."  
"Want to see some more?"  
"Hell, yes!"

And so, they were here, driving towards Brixton. One more curious thing about Thranduil; he owned new black Mercedes. And another observation; Thranduil drives like a drunken psychopath.

"So... you've got questions," Thranduil broke the silence.  
"Yes, I... I looked you up on the Internet last night."  
Thranduil watched the road and drove probably four times faster than limit. "Anything of interest?"  
"Science of deduction? Your website says that you can identify air pilot according to his left thumb..."  
"Yes, and I can read your military career according to your leg and face."  
"That's ...uh... What do you do for living anyway?"  
Thranduil gave him short glance. "What would you say?"  
Thorin hesitated. He didn't know, what to think. "I...uh...I'd say private detective..."  
"But?"  
"Police don't go to private detectives."  
"I am consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job."  
"Which means..."  
Thranduil sighed impatiently. They were in front of traffic lights. "It means that when police's in their wit's end, which is always, they consult me."  
"Police don't consult amateurs. Woo, slow down!"  
Thranduil speeded up and took turning in such speed that Thorin thought that he'll kill them both.  
"I know how to drive."  
"You just almost KILLED us! You drive like a madman!"  
"Don't be such a drama queen. Yesterday, when I asked "Afganistan or Iraq?" you looked surprised."  
"Yes... How did you know?"  
"I didn't. I noticed."  
"But how?"  
"The haircut, the stature says military. Your words say "trained in Barts" so army doctor, obviously. Your face is tanned but you are not tanned above the wrists so you have been abroad, not sunbathing. Your limp is terrible when you walk but when you stand, you don't ask for chair, like you've forgotten so at least partly psychosomatic. It says that original circumstances of the injury were traumatic so mission is it then. And mission means either Afganistan or Iraq."  
"You said that I have a therapist."  
"You have psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist. Then there's your sister. Your phone is expensive and new, about three months. Phone for young person. If you are looking for flatshare, you're not going to waste money on THAT. It was a gift then. It's scratched, carried in a same pocket as keys and coins. No one treats only luxurious thing he owns like that."

Thorin noticed Thranduil's phone. It was scratched and display was cracked. He raised an eyebrow.

Thranduil continued. "So it had a previous owner. Easy. Dís Oakenshield, clearly family member who gave you her old phone. Not mother, young person's phone. Could be cousin, but you're looking for a flatshare so you most probably don't have extended family. Now, Harry. Who's Harry? Kisses and hugs mean romantic attachment. Phone's expensive so husband, not boyfriend. It's about three months old so why to give it away? She left him. If he left her, she would have kept it because of sentiment. But no, she wanted to get rid of it so she left him. Gave the phone to you, it means that she wants to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation but you don't go to your sister what says that you've either liked her husband or maybe you didn't like her drinking."  
"Aeh... How... Can you possibly know about the drinking?"  
"Mobile phone. Place where you plug the charger has scratches all around. You never see teetotaller's phone with it and you never see drunkard's phone without. You were right."  
"I was right about what?"  
Thorin could swear that Thranduil was smirking. "Police don't consult amateurs."  
Luckily for Thorin's lunch, Thranduil was slowing down. He knew these streets, Balin's parents used to live there when he was child. They were almost there.

Thorin looked at Thranduil. "That was amazing!" he said.  
"That's not exactly what I usually hear," Thranduil replied.  
"And what do you usually hear?"  
"Something similar to "piss off"," said Thranduil with a smile and parked the car like the king of the world. Thorin was about to tell him that he's asking for fine but Thranduil was already out of car.

**TBC**

**I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. In the next chapter there will be some more questions and first solved crime. Bye for now!**


End file.
